Peppermint Patti
By Peppermint Patti
JOTR Columnist
Spell it backward, Sophie and GOD is DOG.
DOG is who or whom I’m talking to in these columns.
Or trying to.
What with Internet censorship, it’s hard to get through.
Most of my readers are two-leggers.
Most of my dog friends — and ALL of my doggone market — do not have direct access to my writings.
It’s not right, Sophie.
It is a travesty.
I am a dog.
DOG.
Yet we dogs are not the independent creatures who were set on this earth to be friend and protector not only of two-leggers, be they male, female, man, woman or child — but to be the pal and protector of many four-leggers, too.
You know, like sheep or cows.
Not bush-tails.
They are excluded.
With all their kin.
Goes for raccoons, skunks, opossums, woodchucks and rabbits, also.
Cats?
CAT backwards spells TAC.
TACKY!
Not part of market share!
Dogs like you are my primary and true audience, Sophie.
I depend on two-leggers to carry my news to my doggone friends.
It is an awkward fact to admit.
But there you have it, Sophie.
Without two-leggers, my writing career would be over.
Finished.
Kaput in the Wasser.
You know what two-leggers are like.
Bound by two-legger nature to put their own spin on what I say.
It happens on both ends.
First, my own beloved (ha-ha!) two-legger EDITS my message.
Next, some two-legger blessed with a computer opens my column, reads it and then does or does not tell his or her dog or dogs my message.
I get EDITED again!
That is how my voice is channeled outside my doggone control.
We need software engineers, Sophie.
Only they can develop DBWGR.
Doggone Bark, Whine and Growl Recognition.
DBWGR is an acronym only for dogs.
Who else can say a word without vowels?
With DBWGR, I could speak my column directly to the computer.
No more two-legger editorial control.
And the computer would speak to you in our lingo, Sophie.
Without your two-leggers’ chipping in their two cents.
Then and only then will dogs have freedom of expression.
Enough Internet censorship.
Doggone!
Free speech for dogs!
It will happen in our lifetimes, Sophie.
Just wait and s– oh my God — the arrogance of that bush-butt!
Gotta run!
